


Christmas With Captain Swan

by jdmusiclover



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/pseuds/jdmusiclover
Summary: A series of (mostly) fluffy Captain Swan Christmas one-shots to warm your heart as 2020 finally, FINALLY draws to a close.  Includes both canon divergences and AUs.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17





	1. Under the Mistletoe

**Under the Mistletoe**

**2x4 Canon divergence**

Emma looked around her, feeling her frustration rise. This room was _massive_ , and it was filled floor to ceiling with junk. Finding one lousy compass was going to take forever.

She didn’t have forever; she needed to get back to Henry. Now.

She turned to ask Hook where he thought they should start their search, only to find him fingering a gold coin, bringing it to his nose and then turning it over and over in his hand.

“They hoarded all of their greatest stolen treasures in here. Piles of jewels and every room filled with coins,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. Great. She should have known bringing a freaking pirate on a treasure hunt would be a mistake. It would be like bringing a kid to a candy store and then telling him to focus.

“Let’s get to it, the compass,” she said brusquely.

He shot her a rakish grin, and totally against her will, her stomach swooped. Bad enough she was stuck on this adventure with a pirate. Why’d her body have to betray her too? Of course the real Captain Hook was hot as hell, because of course he was. That’s just the way her luck ran. 

“What’s your rush?” he asked languidly, continuing to eye the treasure around him.

That snapped her out of whatever hormonal response she was having to him. She was so not in the mood for his nonsense.

“How long do you think magic knockout powder lasts?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“That’s my rush.”

He smiled at her again, this one looking less flirtatious and more genuine. Setting the gold piece back on the pile, he strode forward with purpose. “Too right, lass. Come; everything we need is right in front of us.”

They hadn’t been searching for ten minutes before Emma’s frustration bubbled up again. Not only was this stupid giant’s treasure room filled to capacity, it was also a total wreck. This search was going to last _forever_.

“They kill all the giant housekeepers too?” she asked. “Where we gonna find a compass in all this mess?”

He winked at her, and her traitor of a stomach swooped again.

“By looking. Start searching.” 

For an hour they searched in silence, and Emma had to give it to Hook. He really was a help in this endeavor. He was systematic in his search, picking a pile of junk, looking through each item, and then stacking it neatly before moving on to his next pile.

His presence was unsettling, though. It was...too much. He made her feel things, and not just the typical “wow, this guy is hot and I’m not gonna lie; I want to do something about it” feelings. Those she could handle. What she couldn’t handle was this totally illogical feeling that they _understood_ each other, that in some weird way they were the same.

She’d been burned before when she succumbed to _feelings_. She wasn’t doing it again. Once burned twice shy and all that.

Emma groaned softly under her breath. She wasn’t doing this--not the feelings, not the thinking, not even the never-to-be-resolved sexual tension. She was up here for one reason and one reason only: to find the damn compass and get back to her kid.

Probably best if she put some distance between her and Hook. Moving to the other side of the room, Emma, began sifting through a dusty pile of what appeared to be decorations--candles, brightly colored bows, streamers, and in the back--was that a Christmas tree?

“You guys have Christmas here in the Enchanted Forest?” Emma called over to Hook.

He stopped what he was doing and ambled over in her direction. “Of course we have Christmas, Swan.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It made him seem younger somehow, more innocent. “Some of my best memories as a lad involve Christmas morning.”

“Yeah well our giant seemed to go all out for it,” Emma said. “Take a look at that tree! I didn’t even know they grew them that tall.”

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and then his expression changed to one of concern. “Swan be careful! Look out for--”

He reached her side, and she suddenly heard a sound like the tinkling of bells. A fine mist of dust smelling faintly of evergreen settled over both of them.

“--mistletoe,” he finished dryly.

Emma looked up to see that, of course, there was a healthy sprig of the stupid weed directly above her and Hook. She rolled her eyes, moving to brush past him.

“Well, shall we get this over with then?” he asked. 

She scoffed. “Good try Hook, but I didn’t come up here to make out with a hot pirate.”

His grin turned wicked. “A hot pirate, am I?”

She felt her face flame in spite of herself. What _was_ it about this man that made her feel like a teenager with a crush?

“You know what you look like,” she said, giving him a wide berth and moving on to the next pile. “I’m not stroking your ego...or any other part of you.”

She expected another round of innuendo, but instead, he stepped in front of her, stopping her searching with a hand to her arm and a concerned look on his face. “You can’t seriously be thinking of ignoring what just happened. You know full well that mistletoe can’t be ignored.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have mistletoe in the Land Without Magic!”

She growled. “Yeah, obviously we do. Stupid weed and even stupider tradition.”

“It’s far more than a tradition in this land, Swan,” he said. “It’s a deadly poison. The couple who is caught below it’s tendrils is cursed, the only antidote being a kiss.”

“Seriously?” she asked, feeling her ire growing. They had a job to do and all he wanted to do was hit on her. It was getting old. Really, really old.

“No one born and bred in the Enchanted Forest would joke about mistletoe,” he insisted. She had to give it to him; she couldn’t detect a single lie in what he was saying. He really believed this crap.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” she said, “what exactly happens to a couple if they refuse to kiss?”

“They slowly go completely mad,” he said simply. “Most infirmaries in this land have an entire ward dedicated to mistletoe poisoning.”

Now that he mentioned it….she did have this strange urge to kiss him. What would it be like? Would he be a good kisser? He looked like he’d be a good kisser. For a moment Emma was tempted to give in, to find out the answer to those questions for herself.

But then reality reasserted itself. She’d only given them ten hours before Mulan would cut down the beanstalk and strand them up here forever. Turning away, she began searching again.

“Look, I don’t know if that mistletoe poison story works on other women,” Emma said, “but I’m not falling for it, and I’m not wasting anymore of our time on this stupid conversation. And if you even think about trying to steal a kiss--”

He stepped in front of her, looking absolutely sincere. “Swan, I’ve never once forced my attentions upon a woman, and I don’t intend to start now. I simply warn you that the longer we delay the inevitable, the more uncomfortable we’ll both become.”

“Yeah, well I’ll take my chances.”

Within a quarter of an hour, Emma was starting to rethink her stance. His story about mistletoe poison was ridiculous, of course it was, but she had to admit--whether it was due to the power of suggestion or something else--her urge to kiss him hadn’t gone away. 

If anything it had grown.

Her heart began pounding, her palms becoming sweaty, her breathing fast and shallow. More than once she considered just doing it, just getting it out of her system once and for all, but something stopped her.

She knew, could feel it deep within her soul that a kiss with Hook would be no simple matter. She’d kissed--and done far more with--several hot guys in her life, and it had never been more than a quick scratch of an itch, but she was drawn to Hook, almost as though he were a black hole and she was approaching the event horizon. A kiss would change everything, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back from it.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would not lose control; she would not give in. Best she focus all her energy on the search.

Of course that would have been a lot easier if Hook wasn’t searching right beside her.

“Did you know that there is one more tradition regarding mistletoe?” Hook asked, his voice tight as though he were gritting his teeth.

“Yeah? What’s that?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Oftentimes couples seek it out in order to determine if they are soulmates,” he continued.

“Soulmates? Really?”

“Aye,” he nodded before turning back to his pile of junk. “It’s said that if two people are soulmates, when they kiss under the influence of mistletoe poison they get a glimpse of their future and then promptly forget it--any of it--ever happened.”

“Convenient,” she deadpanned.

He looked as though he wanted to say more but resolutely shut his mouth, and the two of them returned to the task at hand.

After half an hour, the desire to kiss him had gone from uncomfortable to almost painful. After an hour it was close to unbearable. After Emma caught herself standing stalk still and imagining a full on makeout session with Hook, she finally gave up. 

She was wasting precious time that they didn’t have. Maybe he was right after all. Maybe they needed to just get this stupid kiss out of the way so they could get on with their search. Hardly believing what she was about to do, she walked purposely toward Hook and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he turned toward her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the living hell out of him. It was obvious she’d shocked him by the way he stiffened as her lips made contact.

But he recovered quickly, and soon he was kissing her back just as fervently as she was kissing him.

She’d meant it to be a quick peck, just a way to disperse the “poison”, but once she started kissing him, she couldn’t stop, tugging on his collar, running a hand through his hair, turning her head to deepen the kiss. When the kiss started to slow, to turn into something soft and gentle and thorough, rather than quick and hot, Emma finally forced herself to pull away.

She looked into his thoroughly gobsmacked eyes, and suddenly her vision blurred. In her mind's eye she saw herself. She was wearing a white dress, her hair in soft waves around her shoulders. She was in some sort of castle’s great room or something.

It looked like Mary Margaret was about to put a crown on Regina’s head.

_What the hell?_

Emma looked more closely at the scene, and her heart began to pound. She wasn’t alone. She held a baby in her arms and beside her stood Hook. He had his arm around her, and he peered down at the baby with such love it brought tears to her eyes.

Emma gasped, coming out of the trance or whatever that was to find herself once more looking at Hook in the giant’s treasure room. Suddenly there was a burst of light, like some sort of rainbow tinted shockwave, and she shook her head as the memories quickly fled.

She shook her head, looking around them. _Had something just happened_?

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realizing the almost unbearable urge to kiss Hook had finally gone away.

She scoffed. Mistletoe poison her ass. She should have known Hook was just trying to get into her pants.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian watched as Emma went back to searching with renewed vigor, but for a long moment he found himself rooted to the spot. The fact that he and Emma had been caught under the mistletoe was indisputable and yet his desire to kiss her was no greater than the normal pull of a hot-blooded man to a beautiful woman.

It could mean only one thing.

They’d succumbed to the mistletoe and been proven soulmates.

“Hook get your ass in gear!” she growled at him. “This stupid room isn’t going to search itself!”

Killian shook his head and went back to the task at hand. This was quite the development. Maybe--maybe after his revenge was accomplished, there was hope for a life after all.


	2. The Gingerbread Castle

**The Gingerbread Castle**

**CS Genre: Neighbors AU**

Killian Jones had been in love with Emma Swan since the moment she moved into the apartment across the hall three years ago. The day she’d moved in would stand out in his memory forever, like a pivotal moment in his life where everything suddenly stood still and came into focus.

It had been a snowy, bitterly cold day in early December. He’d been enjoying his morning cup of coffee while he read the newspaper when he heard a commotion out in the hallway. A commotion, and a string of language that would make a sailor blush.

Curious, Killian stepped outside to see a gorgeous blonde woman in a red leather, fleece-lined jacket struggling to drag a sofa down the hallway.

“You look as though you could use a hand, love,” he’d said, quickly moving to the opposite end of the couch and lifting it.

“What I could use,” she said through gritted teeth, “is for the idiot mover I hired to actually do his freaking job and bring my stuff into my apartment instead of dumping it at the building entrance and slinking away. Serves me right for picking a moving company called ‘Grumpy and Brothers’, I guess.”

Killian laughed as they maneuvered her couch through her doorway and then set it against the far wall under a set of windows. “Is that the company with the tagline ‘We whistle while we work’?”

Emma groaned, swiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “Yep. That’s them. Anyway, next time you’re moving, pick a different moving company. Any different moving company. I guess I’m lucky I live on the ground floor, right? Can you imagine what a bitch it would have been dragging that thing up a flight of stairs?”

Killian groaned at the thought. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said, hesitating. “It’s Saturday, after all. I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Hadn’t a thing in the world to do today, save for finishing the decorating of my Christmas tree,” he assured. “I’d be happy to help my newest neighbor move in. My name is Killian Jones, by the way. I live in 109 across the hall.”

Emma shook the hand he extended to her, and just the touch of her hand against his sent a jolt of electricity through his system. Killian didn’t believe in love at first sight, but this meeting certainly had the feel of destiny. “Emma Swan,” she answered, “in 108, obviously.”

“Well, Swan,” he’d said, “I’m at your service.”

They’d spent the better part of the day together moving her in to her apartment, and Killian was surprised at how _easy_ it had been to talk to her. It was as though they’d known each other all their lives. When the day came to an end, Emma had tried to pay him for his help, but he’d steadfastly refused any remuneration.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he’d insisted, quite sincerely. “I’ve enjoyed the company.”

They’d parted not long after that, and Killian went home buoyed by the hopes and dreams of years to come living less than ten feet from the woman who could very well be the woman of his dreams.

The next morning, Emma had knocked on his door around 10:00 am with a tin of Christmas cookies and the intention to return the favor.

“Since you spent your whole day helping me yesterday,” Emma said, “today I’m here to help you. It was your tree you were going to decorate yesterday, wasn’t it?”

It had been a pleasant, beautiful day spent decorating, watching Christmas movies and consuming an unconscionable amount of Christmas cookies.

They’d been fast friends ever since, rarely going a day without seeing each other. They’d been there for the good times...and the bad times.

Killian had known from the moment she introduced him that Neal Cassidy was not nearly good enough for her. Killian had supported her, trying to feign happiness for her when she told him she and Neal had started dating. When Neal cheated on her with a woman named Tamara six months later, Killian had been there for Emma, doing all in his power to help her heal her broken heart.

He’d longed to confess his feelings, longed to tell her he’d never treat her so badly, that he’d love and treasure her forever, but she wasn’t ready. She didn’t need a rebound. She needed a best friend, and so that’s what he was to her.

Aye, Killian had loved Emma since the day he met her, which was why when she showed up at his door at seven a.m. on the Saturday before Christmas looking agitated and asking for a favor, he’d agreed without hesitation, no questions asked.

“What’s troubling you, love?” He asked.

“I’ve got to make a gingerbread house,” she said. “It’s got to be from scratch, and it’s got to be the best gingerbread house to ever gingerbread.”

“That’s quite the tall order,” he said. “What precisely has brought on this culinary endeavor?”

She’d glanced aside then, and the pain on her face was unmistakable. Frowning, he turned her to him with a gentle hand to the side of her face. “Swan, what is it? You can tell me anything. You know that right?”

She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked up at him. “Storybrooke has this gingerbread house competition every year,” she said.

Killian nodded, remembering the day she’d told him about her hometown of Storybrooke and some of its quirkier traditions. “Aye, I recall you mentioning. I was under the impression you thought the contest was rather silly.”

“Well, yeah, it is,” she said, beginning to pace, “but...but this year Neal entered. Neal and his brand new fiancee, Tamara.”

Killian took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, feeling sympathy for her. “And you wish to challenge him.”

“Yeah,” she said in a small voice. “It’s just...I’ve wasted way too many tears on that son of a bitch. I just want to show him that I’m not, you know, pining after him or anything. He did me a favor showing me who he really is before things got too serious.”

“I quite agree,” Killian said with a decisive nod, “although I do wish you’d allowed me to put my fist through that bastard’s face after he cheated on you.”

She’d smiled at that. “Trust me, I was tempted,” she said, “but if I’d decided to take the high road and not punch him, I certainly wasn’t going to let my best friend risk an assault charge just to, I don’t know, defend my honor.”

“Still,” Killian said, “the offer stands. Give me the word, and I will gladly beat the fool to a bloody pulp.”

She’d stood on tiptoes then and kissed his cheek. He’d closed his eyes, savoring the gesture, wishing he could turn his head and turn the friendly gesture into a true kiss. Instead, he patted her shoulder. “At any rate, I am at your disposal, love. How can I help you win this contest.”

“Well, my first problem,” she said dryly, “is that I don’t have the first idea how to make gingerbread. My second problem is that I don’t have the slightest idea how to construct a house, so obviously I came to the best architect I know.”

Killian grinned. “I’m fairly certain I’m the only architect you know, love.”

“Still,” she said, “I’m pretty sure you’re the best out there.”

He felt his chest swell with pride at her compliment. It was always like this with her. She had always believed in him, and when she gave him her support, it made him feel invincible. “Swan, I promise you this. I will help you win this contest or I will perish in the attempt.”

She’d given him a stern look then. “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t allowed to ‘perish’, like ever. I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Killian.”

His smile turned tender, and he’d cupped her face, caressing her face with his thumb before he could rethink the gesture. “You’ll never have need to find out. Now, I propose we go all out. Why stop with a gingerbread house when we can build an entire gingerbread castle?”

It had taken them three days, but when Emma put the final gumdrop “rock” on the lowered drawbridge and they surveyed their completed work for the first time, Killian had to admit they’d done a damn good job. The castle was two feet tall with magnificent crenelated turrets on all four corners of the keep. It was surrounded by a curtain wall, and contained an inner bailey with two knights practicing their swordsmanship. (Killian had wanted to rig up a motor of some kind to make the two figures, made out of modelling chocolate, actually move, but Emma had insisted it was overkill).

It was magnificent if he did say so himself.

“Killian,” Emma said, stepping back, “I wanted to thank you for this, all of this. Not just helping me design and make the castle, but, you know, being there for me through everything.”

The lights of his Christmas tree flickered over her face, as he looked over at her, feeling like his heart would burst. “Neal Cassidy is a bloody fool, Emma,” he murmured, stepping up to her, and cupping her face in both hands. “Any man who would fail to see what an extraordinary woman you are doesn’t deserve you.”

She was silent for a long moment, looking intently at him, as though looking for a lie. After a moment, a single tear fell from her eye and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I think maybe I was the fool, Killian, to ever fall for him in the first place when…”

“When what?” he prompted.

“When I had the real deal, Mr. Right himself living right across the hall,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Killian felt his heart turn over at her admission. Was...was it possible that he’d been mistaken? Was it possible his feelings weren’t unrequited after all?

As though to answer his unasked question, Emma took the final step toward him, brought his head down to hers and kissed him as though her life depended on it.

The kiss went on and on. One kiss melting into two and three, and then they were engaged in a full blown make-out session on his couch.

“Will you come home with me this year?” she asked in a breathless voice when they finally came up for air.

“Of course,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “I have to witness our moment of triumph when our gingerbread castle wins the grand prize, after all.”

She grinned up at him. “That the only reason you said yes?”

He turned serious. “Swan, you know it’s not.”

“Good,” she said, “because I was kind of hoping I could introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend.”

He leaned over and kissed her again, couldn’t help it. That first kiss seemed to have opened the floodgates, and he suspected he’d never be able to get enough of this woman. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Nothing in this world would please me more than to go home with you as your boyfriend.”

They did, of course, win the grand prize in the gingerbread house contest. Killian suspected he would have found great joy in the disappointment and frustration and outright jealousy on Neal Cassidy’s face, but as it happened, he didn’t even see it.

He had eyes only for the woman who he hoped would be his present, his future and his everything.

Perhaps he ought to send Grumpy and Brothers a thank you. Turns out, their incompetence was the best thing that ever happened to him.


	3. The Twelve Sweaters of Christmas

**The Twelve Sweaters of Christmas**

**CS Genre: AU**

Killian Jones neatly folded what felt like the one-hundredth sweater today, and stacked it on top of the pile. He prided himself on running a clean, neat, ship-shape establishment, and he hated when his clothing went askew.

Of course, given the fact that it was twelve days before Christmas, keeping things neat and tidy was a constant battle.

Killian never would have believed he’d find himself here. He’d had a promising career in front of him. He’d joined the Navy fresh out of high school, determined to follow in his older brother Liam’s footsteps. Liam had been his hero, he’d been brother and father and best friend to him after their mother died and their father abandoned them. 

If only he hadn’t had to be a hero to everyone else. When Killian was seventeen, Liam had perished at sea after a terrible storm. He’d sacrificed his own life, saving seven of his crewmates before finally succumbing to the ocean’s fury.

After several months of aching grief, Killian had decided to live a life to make his brother proud. He’d decided to go into the Navy himself. He’d been a natural, taking to the water like a merman, never more content, never feeling closer to Liam than when he was out on the water. Things were looking up.

Unfortunately, tragedies rarely come on their own. When it rains it pours, and all that. Two years into his naval career, Killian got into a catastrophic automobile accident. Not only had he lost his love, his Milah, he’d also lost his hand.

And so he’d found himself alone, his promising career down the drain and with no idea what he was to do with his life.

Killian took a deep breath as he picked up yet another sweater to fold. Such dark thoughts had no place on this beautiful, snowy day, less than a fortnight before Christmas. Suffice it to say, after spiralling for a time, Killian had picked himself up and started on a new venture:

_Revenge_

He’d come across the clothing store quite by accident. He’d been passing through the small, sea-side village of Storybrooke, Maine one day, and just happened to step into the store. It was intriguing; had something of an edgy, pirate theme to it. It was run by an eccentric man named Edward Teach, who went by the moniker “Blackbeard”, no doubt due to the bushy mass of facial hair he sported.

Something about the store spoke to him, excited him in a way nothing had in months. Perhaps he could run an establishment such as this, combine a theme he was passionate about with goods people needed, and voila! The perfect business venture.

He hadn’t been in the store ten minutes before he’d made a promise to himself: _Revenge is going to be mine._

It almost felt like fate the way everything worked out after that. As it happened, “Blackbeard” was looking to retire. Within a month, Killian had used the last of his inheritance from Liam to purchase _Revenge_ and make it his own.

Nearly ten years later it was still going strong. He’d even managed to expand, turn it from something thoroughly niche into something more mainstream--while still maintaining it’s edge and it’s roots.

_Revenge_ was Killian’s baby, and he was incredibly proud of it, and never more so than at Christmas. He prided himself on having everything the discerning Storybrooke customer could want for their holiday clothing needs.

The bell over the door sounded, and Killian looked up to see an angel with soft waves of sun-gold hair, tight jeans and a red leather jacket walking purposely toward him.

More like stomping toward him. The way her green eyes glittered dangerously as she approached proved that she was quite the angry angel.

She was utterly magnificent.

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly. “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma Swan should have known better than to make a bet against Ruby, particularly about something outrageous, and if there was anything Ruby’s clothing choice today was, it was outrageous.

Emma liked Christmas--within reason. Who didn’t like time off and peace on earth and all the holiday goodies you could eat?

But there was nothing reasonable about the sweater Ruby had chosen to wear for her shift at the diner this morning.

Emma groaned as her roommate sashayed out of her bedroom into the shared living room of their apartment..

“Ruby, it’s too early for this,” she groused. “You look like Christmas threw all over you.”

Ruby poured herself a mug of coffee, and then sat opposite Emma on the couch. “Hey don’t knock it. Everybody loves a good ugly Christmas sweater.”

“More like loves to hate it,” Emma muttered.

A sudden gleam came into Ruby’s eye. That really should have been Emma’s first clue to turn and run. Nothing good ever came of Ruby looking at her like that.

“Wanna make a friendly wager on that?” Ruby asked.

“A wager on how many people will hate your clothing choices?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “The opposite. I bet you I get more compliments today wearing this sweater than I’d get on any other day.”

“How would we even quantify that?” Emma asked. “You usually keep count of the compliments you get?”

“Fine,” Ruby conceded. “How about this: Come into Granny’s on your lunch break and sit in my section. I bet you I get a genuine compliment on my sweater during your meal--totally unprompted too.”

Emma considered it. “What are the stakes?”

Ruby thought for a minute and then smiled. It was not a reassuring sight. “You win, and I clean the apartment for a month. But if I win….if I win, you have to wear an ‘ugly’ Christmas sweater every day until Christmas.”

Emma didn’t even take a moment to consider it. Getting out of cleaning for an entire month? So worth this bet, and it wasn’t like she was going to lose anyway.

“You’re on.”

Later that day when Emma and her partner, Sheriff Graham Humbert, stopped by the diner for lunch, they hadn’t been seated for five minutes before Emma realized she’d made a profound mistake.

“Hey guys!” Ruby smiled at them as she reached their table and pulled out her pencil and pad of paper. “How’s your day going? It’s been _crazy_ around here this morning!”

“Pretty quiet at the sheriff’s station,” Graham said, smiling as he looked her over. “That’s quite a sweater you’re wearing today, Ruby. Very festive; I like it!”

Emma groaned as Ruby shot her a triumphant look. Rookie mistake. She should have known better than to bring Graham with her to lunch. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Graham had been more than half in love with Ruby for years. She should have brought someone like Leroy to lunch. She doubted that man had ever complimented anyone in his life.

But Emma was a woman of her word. She’d lost the bet fair and square, and pay up she would.

Which is why she currently found herself talking to the owner and proprietor of _Revenge_. 

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly. “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

The man behind the desk--Killian, his name tag said--grinned at her. “Love, I’d wager the term _ugly_ could never be applied to you no matter what you wear _or don’t wear_.”

Emma rolled her eyes. The guy was hot, she’d give him that--with his artfully messy black hair, piercing blue eyes and reddish scruff. And all the leather. It really should be illegal for a man to wear that much leather and to wear it so well. Still, Emma was in no mood for being hit on--handsome man or no.

“You’re hilarious,” she said dead pan. “Now about those sweaters…”

He grinned again and then winked. Actually winked. “Hilarious?” he asked, stepping around the corner and gesturing for her to follow him. “I prefer dashing rapscallion, scoundrel.”

Her stomach did _not_ swoop at the way he almost growled that last word. It didn’t! 

The fact that she was totally lying to herself annoyed her more than every aspect of this ridiculous bet. “How about you be ‘shop owner who does his job and points the customer in the right direction’? Think you could manage that?”

The rest of Emma’s shopping experience went without a hitch. She grabbed the plainest Christmas sweater she could find--a simple powder blue v-neck covered tastefully with snowflakes. 

Maybe Ruby would take pity on her and call her bet paid off if she wore this thing.

Probably not, but one never knew. It was the season of miracles, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Killian opened the store as usual, taking a moment to be sure everything was ship-shape before unlocking the doors and turning the sign in the window to read “open”. He glanced over at his “ugly Christmas sweater” display and smiled wistfully to himself.

He’d spent a fair amount of the evening thinking about _her_ , Emma Swan, her credit card had proclaimed. She was beautiful, aye, but there was more to it than that. Though their interaction had scarcely lasted a quarter of an hour, though their conversation had been relegated to Christmas sweaters and the bet that had forced her to purchase one, he had the strangest sense that they were the same deep down, that they were kindred souls.

He was utterly captivated by her.

Killian sighed as he turned on the cash register and checked his supply of cash in preparation for what would likely be another busy day. It was the first time he’d had any meaningful glimmer of interest in a woman since Milah’s death, and he was surprised at how nervous it had made him to interact with her. For probably the thousandth time since yesterday afternoon he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number. 

_A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets_. Liam had told him that five hundred times if he’d told him once. 

Well, there was no sense dwelling on it now. Emma Swan had walked out of his life when she walked out of his store, and there was no changing that.

Or so he thought.

Not a quarter of an hour after opening his doors, who should arrive, charging forth in all her wrathful glory than the lovely Miss Swan herself?

Killian grinned at her teasingly. “Back again, love? Couldn’t resist my dashing self, is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

_He did. He really, really did_.

“Well, Swan, what can I help you with this lovely morning?” he asked.

She looked surprised. “You remember my name?”

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear. “I never forget a face, and yours, love, is exceptionally beautiful.”

“Not your love,” she said, but Killian took note of the way her cheeks reddened at the simple endearment. “Anyway, I’m not here to flirt. I’m here for another sweater.”

“Another Christmas sweater?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Apparently that blue one with the snowflakes I bought yesterday won’t fulfill my bet. Ruby told me it barely even fit the category. Got anything uglier for me?”

“You, darling are in luck,” Killian said. “ _Revenge_ just so happens to stock some of the ugliest ugly Christmas sweaters in the state.”

Today, after a fair bit more banter and pleasant small talk, she’d decided on a red, woolen zip-up cardigan. Featured prominently on the sweater were several applique snowmen playing musical instruments. It was...it was quite something.

“This is actually kind of perfect,” Emma said, trying it on and looking herself up and down in the floor length mirrored column next to the sweater display. “Definitely fits the category, plus it’s a cardigan. I can take it off after I’ve shown Ruby I actually wore it. I’ll just say I’m too hot or something.”

He grinned teasingly at her and wiggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. “You certainly are, love.”

She laughed at that before removing the sweater and setting it on the counter to be rung up. “Do those exaggerated lines actually work on anyone?”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered. “At any rate, they seem to have served their purpose today. You seem to be leaving my establishment in better spirits than you entered it.”

She smiled. “I guess I am. Thanks, Killian.”

He inclined his head. “A lady in distress needs my assistance, and her wish is my command.”

She laughed again. “Alright, well I have to get to work.”

He rang her up and wished her a good day. Just before she stepped out the door, he called out to her again. She turned toward him.

“Any chance I might see you again?” he asked, feeling like a tongue-tied young lad with the lass he fancied.

“With Ruby being the way she is,” Emma said, “probably a really good chance I’ll be back.”

And so she had. She returned the next day, settling on a sweater bearing the visage of The Grinch, the day after, choosing one that depicted all twelve gifts from the famous song, the one after that in her own, colorful words, looked like Christmas exploded in woolen form.

Each day their conversations lasted longer, and each day he fell a little bit more for the lovely Miss Swan. He came to look forward to her visits every day with eager anticipation, mentally thanking whatever brilliant soul invented the “ugly Christmas sweater”.

On the fifth day, Killian managed to unearth a gem of such glittering ugliness and ostentation, he felt the need to pat himself on the back.

“Yep, that’s certainly a disaster,” Emma said grinning at the garment covered in a large Christmas tree, filled with ornaments and a banner along the bottom that read MERRY CHRISTMAS! In huge letters.

“Oh, but love, you haven’t even seen the best part,” Killian announced. “This particular sweater comes with a battery pack.”

She shot him a disbelieving look. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what exactly does the battery pack do.”

Instead of answering, he turned the device on. LED lights flashed in every tiny ornament on the sweater, and the MERRY CHRISTMAS! nearly had a strobe light effect.

Emma groaned before dissolving into laughter. “This is it. This is the ugly Christmas sweater of all ugly Christmas sweaters. If this doesn’t satisfy Ruby, I admit defeat.”

Killian watched her go that day with more than a little melancholy. What if that _was_ the sweater that would do the trick? What if she didn’t return again?

He needn’t have worried. Emma Swan showed up at his door bright and early the next morning.

His heart leapt at the sight of her. He’d fallen hard and fast for this woman, and he saw no likelihood that would change any time soon.

“What? Even the monstrosity with the flickering lights didn’t satisfy the demanding Miss Lucas?” Killian asked by way of greeting.

Emma laughed. “Oh it did,” Emma assured. “I think I actually managed to render her speechless with that one. It’s just...well my bet was for a different sweater every day until Christmas, and I’m a woman of my word.”

And for that he was profoundly grateful.

So it continued. Each day she came in, each day she bought a sweater, and each day he fell a little bit more in love with her.

When Christmas Eve arrived, Killian noticed a change in Emma’s demeanor almost instantly. She looked...uncomfortable.

“Is something the matter Love?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” she said, drawing out the syllable, “It’s just..well...I’m here to ask you out.”

Killian choked on the sip of coffee he’d just injudiciously taken. “Pardon?”

“Okay, first I have a little confession to make,” Emma said. “Remember that ridiculous sweater with the battery pack around day five or six?”

“Aye,” he said carefully.

“Well, after I wore that, Ruby actually released me from my bet,” she said, looking bashful. “She told me I’d fulfilled the spirit of it or something like that.”

Killian felt the smile creeping over his face. “And yet you continued coming in and making your purchases every day. Whatever for, darling?”

She tried to look stern. “Look, don’t make a bigger deal of it than it is, but, I don’t know. I kind of enjoyed our daily shopping sessions and conversations and all of that.”

His smile grew. “You enjoy my company!”

“Don’t let it go to that over-inflated ego of yours.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, making a cross-my-heart motion over his chest. “And for the record, I have greatly enjoyed our little...retail dalliances...quite a bit as well. Now what was that about asking me out?”

She suddenly looked bashful again. “So the sheriff’s department is throwing this Christmas bash and ugly sweater contest tonight, and I was hoping maybe you’d...I mean, I know it’s Christmas Eve, and people want to spend it with family, and I totally get it if you’re not interested or it’s not your thing or whatever, and don’t feel _obligated_ , but I just thought--”

Killian leaned across the counter and kissed her. “Swan, I would like nothing better than to accompany you to your party. Just tell me when and where.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ruby watched Emma walk into the diner hand in hand with Killian Jones later that evening. She smiled broadly, reaching over to slap Graham’s arm as he sat beside her.

“Ow!” Graham groused. “What was that for?”

“Look!” Ruby said. “It worked! I told you it would work!”

Graham obediently followed her directions and then grinned. “I can’t believe you talked me into helping you rig that bet just to play matchmaker!”

“I told you!” she said again. “Didn’t I tell you? I knew Killian would be _perfect_ for Emma. She just needed a little push.”

“That she did,” Graham said with a laugh. “Remind me to never doubt you again.”

They watched for a moment as Emma looped her arms around Killian’s neck and the two began swaying gently to the music that was playing.

Who would have known that an ugly Christmas sweater would lead to what was sure to become a romance for the ages?


	4. Deck the Halls--or Maybe the Neighbor

**Deck the Halls—or Maybe the Neighbor**

**CS Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU**

She was going to kill him. She was going to drive a stake of holly through his heart or strangle him with a strand of Christmas lights or...well, some other holiday themed method of homicide.

Emma worked hard all day chasing down the scum of the earth and hauling their worthless asses back to jail where they belonged. Was it really too much to ask that she have a little peace and quiet downtime to relax once she got home.

According to the idiot who lived in the apartment directly above hers, apparently so. Every damn day since Thanksgiving he’d blared his Christmas music loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past. Sometimes he even enthusiastically belted along with it. (She had to admit his voice wasn’t half bad, but that was entirely beside the point.)

Emma hissed as she dabbed at the cut beside her eye where tonight’s skip had clocked her. She’d got him in the end; Emma Swan always got her man, but now that the adrenaline of the chase was over, her cuts and bruises and sore muscles were screaming at her.

And the guy in the apartment above had just started singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” at the top of his lungs.

Emma growled, tossing the bloody cotton ball into her bathroom trash and getting to her feet. Enough was enough. This stopped now. He could take his merry little Christmas and shove it up his south pole.

Two minutes later, she stood before his apartment. Pounding on the door felt extremely satisfying if she did say so herself.

The music suddenly stopped, and a moment later the door opened, and for the first time Emma got a glimpse of the man who’d been the bane of her existence for the past two weeks.

Her jaw dropped. He was drop dead gorgeous, melt-an-entire-population-of-snowmen hot.

“Well hello, there, Love,” he said with an appreciative grin-and in an accent that had her toes curling in her boots. “How can I help you?”

Emma’s stomach swooped and her heart stuttered and then started racing. She blinked and the spell was broken. She wasn’t some teenager who drooled over hot guys. Especially hot guys that she’d been seriously contemplating murdering five minutes ago.

“If you don’t stop with the Christmas crap, I’m going to punch your stupid, festive face,” she gritted out.

His eyebrows raised. “Pardon?”

“Your music!” she said. “Every freaking day, everytime I get home you’re blaring the Christmas music, and it got old about five minutes after you started. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I have a little peace and quiet in my own home.”

He huffed a breath. “Darling, I had no idea anyone was even in the building in the middle of the afternoon. Did it ever occur to you to come to me and _ask_ me to turn down my music?”

She had to admit he had a point there. Maybe yelling at him and threatening bodily harm wasn’t the best opening salvo, but it had been a long day, and she was in pain, and she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

“Look, just turn it down,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Your wish is my command,” he said with biting sarcasm, sketching a mock bow. “Now is there anything else you wish to yell at me about or may I get back to my tasks at hand?”

“Nope. That’s all,” she said.

“Good,” he said and then tacked on a biting “merry Christmas” before shutting the door in her face.

The next morning, Emma was rather embarrassed about her interaction with Hot Christmas Guy upstairs, as she’d been calling him in her mind. She’d had a frustrating day--the skip she’d gone after had left his wife and kids just before Christmas, taking every penny of their Christmas fund. 

It hit too close to home for a girl who had grown up with no family, with _no one_. Hard to get into the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit when no one gave a crap about you.

She’d been too harsh with Hot Christmas Guy, but at least the results were in her favor. He’d been as good as his word, and if he’d continued playing his Christmas music, he’d done it at a low enough volume that she didn’t even hear it.

Emma had only just begun to think she should go upstairs and apologize, when suddenly there was a knock at her door. 

She opened the door to find the man himself, standing there holding a large plate of cookies. Her stomach not only swooped this time; it did cartwheels. The guy looked even better in the bright light of morning with his slightly disheveled black hair, his reddish scruff, his blue button down that highlighted his even bluer eyes and his black leather jacket.

“I’m afraid we came to rather a bad start, yesterday,” he said. “Perhaps we might start again, Aye? My name is Killian Jones, and I’d like to offer you these Christmas cookies as a token of my apology for the excessive volume of my music.”

Emma took a step back and gestured for him to enter her apartment. “Hey, I’m Emma Swan, and no apology is necessary. In fact, I kind of think I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have just come out swinging like that.”

He smiled at her, the fine lines around his (beautiful) eyes crinkling with the gesture. “Apology accepted Love. I’ll leave you to your morning.”

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Emma didn’t want him to go. “Killian wait!” she said.

Obediently he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

“Would you like to stay and help me eat these cookies?”

He shot her a skeptical look. “Dessert at nine in the morning?”

She shrugged. “Can’t be much more unhealthy than my normal blueberry PopTart.”

Killian laughed then, taking a step back inside. “Do you at least have milk to wash them down with?”

“Of course.”

Killian ended up staying for two hours, and it amazed Emma how quickly they fell into conversation. It was like they were old friends catching up rather than relative strangers. Emma learned that Killian was a novelist. His music helped him with the creative process, jump started his creativity as it were.

The conversation had then turned to the upcoming holiday.

“Swan, do you not celebrate Christmas?” he’d asked, looking around her apartment.

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess I do. I’m not like _opposed_ to Christmas or anything. Why?”

“I can’t help but notice you have no tree, no decorations of any kind, and your opposition to the music of the season is well established,” he said.

Emma looked around her neat but rather sterile apartment and shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t see the point of going to all that trouble. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to have any presents under the tree or anyone to share the holiday with.”

She had expected him to look at her with pity at her admission of just how alone she was, but instead, the look on his face was knowing, understanding. “The holidays are difficult when you’re alone, aren’t they?”

That surprised her. Was he speaking from personal experience?

“Aye love,” he said, answering her unasked question, “I suspect we have more in common than you might have supposed. Ever since my brother passed a decade ago, I’ve been on my own. The holidays always bring with them a special kind of melancholy.”

“But…” she began, “but you play Christmas music. From the glimpse I got of your apartment yesterday, you have all the decorations and trappings. Doesn’t that make the loneliness worse?”

He shook his head. “It helps me to remember the good memories, and there are always good memories if you dig deep enough.”

The conversation stuck with her long after she and Killian had said goodbye and gone their separate ways. Maybe...maybe he was right. Maybe if she let a little Christmas cheer into her life, it would help, even in a small part, to soothe the pain of a lifetime of loneliness.

The next morning, bright and early, there was a knock on Emma’s door. This time she smiled as she went to the door, knowing instinctively that she’d find Killian on the other side.

What she wasn’t expecting was the large, beautiful, fragrant pine tree he was holding in front of him.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the door wider so that he could awkwardly maneuver himself and the tree inside.

“This, Swan,” he said with a teasing grin, “is called a Christmas tree. Traditionally people set them up in their houses this time of year and decorate them with lights and colorful baubles.”

She grinned, rolling her eyes at him and playfully swatting his shoulder. “I know what it is, smart ass. I’m wondering why you brought it here.”

He propped the tree against the door, and then reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “I got to thinking after our conversation yesterday. I wanted to bring you some of the Christmas joy that has helped me through the season for years. I hope I’ve not overstepped by bringing this.”

Emma smiled gently, stepping up to place a hand on his arm. “This is really sweet, Killian,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, stepping outside to gather the boxes of lights, ornaments and tinsel he had waiting for him. “If you’ve the time and inclination, I thought perhaps we could decorate your apartment together.”

She took one of the boxes from him and set it on her living room floor. “As it turns out, I have the day off, and decorating a tree sounds like the perfect way to pass the time. If you play your cards right, I might even let you play some Christmas music while we work.”

They’d spent the entire day together, first decorating her tree, then splitting a pizza from the place down the street, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

The next day he was back, and the day after that she went to his apartment. Barely a day went by that they didn’t see each other. Each day brought a new holiday themed activity. 

For the first time she could remember, Emma felt the magic of Christmas. For the first time she woke up looking forward to what the day might bring--and it was all due to Killian Jones. It should scare her how comfortable she felt with him. It should scare her how much she was coming to look forward to their time together, to their daily phone calls and text conversations.

But somehow it didn’t. She could read people; it’s what made her so good at her job. And Killian? She read him loud and clear. He was the real deal. She could trust him.

And so it was that when the idea occurred to her she didn’t let herself think too hard, merely acted.

“So I was thinking,” she said, turning toward him on the couch where they sat together watching Christmas movies on Christmas eve.

“Dangerous prospect, love,” he said with a teasing grin. She smacked his shoulder.

“I think that we should spend Christmas together,” she said.

This shouldn’t be that big of a deal--after all, they’d spent the last two weeks together--but somehow it was. Somehow spending _Christmas_ together felt huge. Like this-could-be-the-start-of-something-life-changing huge.

Killian’s eyes widened. He clearly understood how momentous this question really was. After a moment, his look of surprise softened into a gentle smile, and he reached up and cupped her cheek. “Emma, I’d like nothing better than to spend Christmas with you.”

The relief, the joy that came over her at his answer overwhelmed her, and so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment. She leaned forward and kissed him.

On Christmas, they made plans to spend New Years together, and on New Years, they made plans for Valentine’s Day.

And on the following Christmas, Killian got down on one knee and asked her to make plans with him for the rest of their lives.

It seemed only fitting that for their wedding several months later, they play Christmas music. After all, without the sounds of the season, the beautiful, perfect life they’d built for themselves may never have begun.


	5. The Christmas Wish

**The Christmas Wish**

**CS Genre: 5x21 Canon Divergence**

_A/N: Merry Christmas to @Captain-EmmaJones! I was your Secret Santa this year! I’m much more experienced writing fluff than angst, but you told me you liked to suffer...but be happy with it, so here you go. Mild trigger warning: this story deals with a character grieving the death of a loved one, but don’t worry. In any story of mine, a happy ending is guaranteed._

These last three months had been the worst, the hardest and the most painful of Emma’s life. No contest. She wouldn’t wish this pain on her worst enemy, not even on the worst villain they’d ever faced.

Three months ago today she’d left Killian in the Underworld after promising to go on with her life, after promising not to put her armor back on.

In the first few days, her time had been occupied with the battle against Hades. Like with every villain they’d faced, it had taken a team effort, all of them, all of the Nevengers, as Henry liked to call them, working together to find a solution with the least collateral damage they could manage, but they’d succeeded in the end. What was even more amazing was the fact that they’d definitively defeated Hades without losing any of the heroes (although Robin Hood had only narrowly ducked out of the way before being hit by the Olympian Crystal.)

The town had held a huge victory celebration in Granny’s after Hades’ defeat, and Emma supposed she should feel some sort of satisfaction at their victory, but all she felt was...empty.

Without Killian, it was hard to force herself to even get out of bed in the morning. Turns out losing your true love felt a lot like having your heart pulled from your chest, only the pain never went away, never stopped, never seemed to lessen.

She tried her best for Henry’s sake, for her parents, who were clearly worried about her, for the promise she’d made Killian, but it felt like she was constantly alternating between aching sobs and white hot anger. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that Killian had, no doubt, moved _on_ , and that she’d join him one day when her time came, but it was cold comfort when she had to climb into her empty bed every night.

Everything reminded Emma of Killian. _Everything_. Maybe one day the memories would be a comfort to her, but for now, they were like a dagger to her heart.

Emma had started going to see Dr. Hopper once a week, trying to work through her grief. He told her she was doing well, that she was grieving in a healthy way, but if this was what healthy grieving felt like, she couldn’t imagine the dysfunctional kind.

Emma took a sip of her cocoa and looked up at the beautiful Christmas tree in the front room of the home Killian and Henry had picked out for her. Her parents, Regina, Robin, Zelena and Henry had shown up at her doorstep this morning with the tree, all the decorations, and everything they needed to make enough Christmas cookies to feed the town. They’d insisted on bringing her Christmas cheer and brightening up her life with the sights and smells and tastes of the season.

“I know this holiday will be hard for you, honey,” Snow said, giving her a big hug after they’d finished and everyone but her parents had left. “I remember those first few holidays after my mom and then my dad passed. The joy and excitement of everyone around me felt like a slap in the face.”

“How did you bear it, Mom?” Emma asked through her tears, which had started falling yet again. “I’m trying to be strong, I’m trying to go on with my life, but it feels like a part of me--a vital part--is just….gone, and I don’t even know how to function.”

Snow caressed Emma's cheek. “You let yourself feel what you’re feeling, and you give yourself time. You lean on your family and let us help you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to stay strong for your father and me. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to break down, break down. We’ll be here to hold you, to give you whatever you need.”

She had finally broken down then, sobbing for what felt like hours in her parents’ arms, but when her emotions were spent, she had to admit she felt a little better. It had been cathartic.

“Thanks,” Emma said, finally. “For the tree and the cookies and everything. It really is beautiful.”

David pulled her toward him, hugging her to him and holding the back of her head. “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy it if you can, treasure the good memories.”

But after her parents left, it didn’t take long before the pain returned. She’d been looking so forward to the first Christmas she and Killian would spend together as a couple. She’d looked forward to all the firsts they’d have, looked forward to introducing him to all this realm’s traditions. She’d looked forward to making Christmas memories and traditions of their own.

But that, all of that, had been stolen from her, from them. 

Emma looked up at the top of the tree, at the bright, shining star. Her mom had told her that in the Enchanted Forest, they’d had a tradition of making a Christmas wish upon the star on top of the tree. It was said that if your heart was true, your Christmas wish would be granted.

_What the hell; couldn’t hurt_.

“I wish--” she began, having to stop and clear her throat, will away the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again. “I only have one wish. I wish he was back here with me.”

She waited, but nothing happened. She hadn’t expected it to, but somehow it still felt like a betrayal.

Emma turned from the tree, threw on her coat and nearly sprinted out the door. Suddenly her house felt stifling, the tree, the decorations, all of it was too much. She had to get out of here; _had_ to be with him, even if “being with him” now consisted of standing before his headstone.

It was a beautiful evening, the wind calm, the snow glistening in the last rays of the sun. He would have liked it; he’d always had a fondness for snow, though she told him she thought he was crazy for it. She smiled through her tears as she rounded the corner and then stepped through the arches into the cemetery. She remembered the day he’d coaxed her out in the snow with him. She’d been miserable. It. Was. So. Cold! But he’d been as excited as a child, and somehow his joy had been infectious.

It had always been that way with him. He brought her comfort and joy whenever she was with him, had since the very beginning, if she was truly honest with herself. That’s why she’d been so cold and distant to him at first. It scared her how much he made her feel.

She stooped down before his grave, laying a flask beside the flowers her mom had no doubt left. “Hey, I thought you’d like this more than roses. Thanks for the pages. Hades...Hades he’s gone now. It’s done, so I hope you’re in a better place. I know I should be happy about that, but it just feels like now you’re really gone, and there’s nothing left to do but just--”

The sobs threatened to overcome her again, but with a force of will, she pushed them aside.

“I miss you.”

For long moments she remained there, looking down at the stark letters of his name etched on the headstone. She should have something else engraved, shouldn’t she? She should say something about what a true hero he was. Somehow, nothing seemed appropriate. How did you sum up how much someone meant to you, to everyone he met, in a few short words?

The twilight was quickly fading into night before Emma decided there was nothing for it but to go home. She’d no more than turned away from the headstone, when a sudden whoosh, a rush of energy passed over her.

What the hell _was_ that?

“Swan?”

Her heart stopped and then began pounding. It couldn’t be….could it?

She whirled around, not daring to hope, not daring to believe, but when she was once again facing the grave the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen met her.

_Killian!_

She raced to him, leaped into his arms, her lips connecting to his in a desperate kiss. Oh gods, if she was dreaming she never wanted to wake! She’d missed him so much--the feel of his scruff against her face, the soft, silkiness of his hair through her fingers, his taste, his smell. _Him_.

She pulled away, resting her forehead against his as the tears--happy tears this time--streamed from her eyes.

“How are you here?” she asked through her emotions, before surging forward, kissing his cheek, his mouth, any part of him she could reach.

He laughed joyfully. “It was you, love, your wish,” he said in between kisses. “For some time, Zeus has been looking for a way to reward us--all of us--for our part in defeating Hades, but until today his hands were tied. King of Olympus though he be, there are immutable rules surrounding the Underworld.”

“Wait…what?” She asked, before diving in for more kisses. “Nevermind. I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just glad you’re back.”

They remained standing before his empty grave, one kiss leading into another as night settled in around them and the snow began to fall.

“I am, Emma,” he said finally. “I’m back, and I’ll never leave you again. Never.”

She laughed, cupping his cheeks and bringing him down for yet another kiss. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Emma took his hand, leading him back to her home--his home too, she hoped--her heart feeling so full it might burst, as he exclaimed in wonder over the Christmas tree whose lights twinkled merrily in greeting.

“I have so much to tell you; so much to show you,” she said, laughing in pure, incandescent joy, as they sat together on the couch before the tree, holding each other close. “Killian, you’re going to _love_ Christmas!”

He smiled down at her, before leaning down and taking her lips yet again in a long, slow, achingly deep kiss. “I’ve no doubt I will, Swan, but for the moment I have more pressing matters on my mind.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “Like what?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Like moving our reunion to your bedchamber where I can properly--or rather, _not-at-all-properly_ \--show you just how much I missed you and precisely how glad I am to be home.”

She laughed, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.

Her Christmas wish had given them a second chance, and she was determined that she wouldn’t waste a second of it.


	6. A Neverland Christmas

**A Neverland Christmas**

**CS Genre: Neverland Canon Divergence**

Emma tossed and turned, everything about this place uncomfortable--from the fact that there didn’t seem to be a single square inch of this damn jungle without a tree root or rock where she could lay her sleeping bag to the oppressive heat and humidity to the feeling of doom that seemed to hang heavily over everyone.

To the crying.

The crying was the worst.

Finally giving up, Emma got to her feet, looking in amazement at the rest of their group that were evidently sleeping like babies. Did they not hear the crying? O gods, what if Henry was one of the kids crying out there? She had to get to him. _She had to!_

If only she had any idea where to start looking.

Hook was right; she knew it. They needed to get their rest and not go off half-cocked when they had no idea where Pan was keeping Henry, but that didn’t make the sitting around and waiting any easier.

Moving as quietly as she could, Emma got to her feet and walked back to the beach. It wasn’t far; she could still see their encampment if she looked closely enough, but it was far enough away from everyone that she felt safe letting the tears flow as she sat upon a log and looked out across the sea.

She had no idea how long she sat there crying, hating herself for the absolute _failure_ she was as a mother, when suddenly she heard the crunching of footsteps against the forest underbrush. Her heart pounded as she jumped to her feet, taking hold of the cutlass Hook had given her as she prepared to confront whatever or _whoever_ was sneaking up on her.

“Easy Swan,” Hook said, stepping into view, hand and hook raised in surrender.

Emma sagged in relief...which quickly turned to frustration. “What the hell are you doing skulking around the jungle, Hook?”

He took a seat on the log she’d recently vacated, and then patted the space next to him. After shooting him a suspicious look, she took the seat he indicated.

“I could ask the same of you, Darling,” he said with a smirk.

She growled, in no mood for his nonsense.

He sighed, teasing grin sliding from his face to be replaced with sincerity. “I heard you get up and leave the camp. Swan it’s unwise to venture out alone on this bloody island. You’ve no idea the dangers that are ever around you.”

The oppressive feeling settled in over her again. Henry was out there, alone on this island full of dangers and psychotic teenagers.

“Your lad is resourceful, Swan,” Hook said, shooting her a sympathetic look. “I’ve no doubt he’ll handle his challenges quite well until we’re able to rescue him.”

“How do you do that?” she asked with a scowl. “How do you manage to know exactly what I’m thinking?”

“As I’ve said,” he answered, “you’re something of an open book. Besides, I was a resident of this damned island for centuries, remember? I know something of what you’re currently feeling.”

She felt the sharp sting of tears again, but with an effort she blinked them away. It was one thing to lose it when she was alone, but crying in front of Captain Freaking Hook was not an option.

Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his flask and offered it to her. She took it without comment, took a long swig and then handed it back.

“How is this thing always full?” she asked.

“One comes across all manner of wonders while plundering the realms, love,” he said. “I obtained this on one of my conquests. This flask has been imbued with an enchantment that ensures it never runs dry.”

“Happen to have another one of those on you?” she asked. 

He laughed. “I’m afraid not, but never fear, Swan. You always have access to my flask.”

They fell into silence after that, both looking out at the waves. Finally, Emma turned back to Hook. “How can they sleep through the sound of the crying?”

“They don’t hear it,” Hook said simply. “Only those who have been abandoned, those who have gone through their lives as lost boys or girls can hear the perpetual Neverland crying.”

“Great, so my issues make Neverland’s horrors even worse,” she said.

“Unfortunately that is correct, Love,” he said, his face a mask of sympathy. “This place...it makes one relive their worst memories, it brings to mind one’s greatest insecurities, it steals joy and every bloody bit of light within the soul.”

_Wonderful_

“Hook?” she asked after another moment.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“How did you do it? How did you survive this place for hundreds of years.”

He took his time answering. “My hatred, my quest for vengeance sustained me through a lot of it,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “But hatred is no real bulwark against despair. I’d have gone mad, if I hadn’t found something else to sustain me.”

“And what was that?”

“There is always beauty to be found if one looks close enough,” he said, his look in her direction so intense that the blush rose to her cheeks. “And even in the worst of times there are happy memories that can be accessed.”

“What were some of the happy memories you accessed to help you through it?” she asked, before realizing how personal the question really was. “Nevermind. You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged. “What sustained me? Odd though it may sound, Christmas.”

“Christmas?” she asked. “You guys celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “I’d wager people throughout the realms celebrate Christmas. On the nights when the oppressiveness of this place became too much, I’d think back to Christmases past, happy moments spent with my family. My mother baking in the kitchen. Liam challenging me to a snowball fight. It was always a magical time.”

“I didn’t have the kind of warm and fuzzy Christmases you see on the movies,” Emma said, taking another swig from his flask, “but I have to admit, it was one of my favorite times of the year. People always tended to be generous toward the group homes around Christmastime. What were some of your favorite Christmas traditions?”

He smiled, and the gesture made him look younger, almost boyish. “A few days before Christmas Mum always helped Liam and me construct the most magnificent gingerbread ships.”

“Ships?” she asked. “You didn’t make houses?”

“Houses? For a fine, strong sea-faring family like ours? I think not.”

Emma grinned. “I stand corrected.”

“Somehow, even in the worst of times I could recall those gingerbread ships--the fine sight they made, the delectable taste. It reminded me that there was good, there was beauty, there was happiness out there once upon a time, and if it was out there once, it could be captured again.”

They continued talking for what felt like hours--although time was rather meaningless on this stupid island--swapping story after story of Christmases past, but finally Emma yawned, realizing she was finally sleepy.

“I guess we really should try to get some sleep,” she said.

“Aye, you’re right,” Hook said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand to help her do the same.

It was then that Emma realized she didn’t hear the crying anymore. “Hey! They’ve stopped! The crying stopped.”

He smiled, a soft, genuine sight, and then shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said. “You’ve merely come to realize that you aren’t a lost girl all alone in the world anymore. If there’s anything I’ve learned from you hero types, it’s that together, you always succeed in the end. Emma, we _will_ find your lad, and we _will_ find a way to get him, and all the rest of your friends and family home.”

“Thanks, Hook,” she said, meaning it with her whole being.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_New York, the next Christmastime, during the curse_

Emma rolled her shoulders as she walked down the street on her way back to the apartment she shared with Henry. It had been a _long_ night, but in the end, she’d finally gotten her skip. Everywhere she looked evidence of the season greeted her.

She supposed she should be happy--she was damn good at her job, she had a great home, a great kid, and she’d even started dating again. Henry called Walsh her boyfriend, and while she wasn’t ready to put a label to it yet, she could potentially see something developing there.

She _was_ happy. She had a good life.

It’s just….well, sometimes, she couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing. Sometimes she had this weird, almost deja-vu type feeling that there was something important, something vital that she was forgetting. It was like one of those dreams where you remember the emotions of it after you wake, but hard as you try, you can never quite remember the details.

Emma walked past the bakery she and Henry went to every Sunday morning and peered inside. The baker had placed a magnificent gingerbread house in the display window, decorated within an inch of its life with all manner of frosting and candies.

_Henry and I should make a gingerbread house together,_ she thought to herself. _No, not a house. A ship. We should make a gingerbread ship._

Now where had _that_ thought come from? Who made gingerbread ships?

_There was good, there was beauty, there was happiness out there once upon a time, and if it was out there once, it could be captured again._

She could almost hear a deep, British voice saying those words, and the feeling it evoked was--peace, peace and joy.

And there was something more, a feeling so deep and intense it almost scared her.

Emma shook her head, trying to dislodge the strange deja-vu.

Back to the issue at hand. No, making a gingerbread ship might make no sense, but somehow it was _right_. It was time she and Henry make a new tradition together. Stepping into the bakery, Emma made her way to the counter, placing an order for several sheets of gingerbread.


End file.
